


my love. (come home to me.)

by ftwnhgn



Category: Bandstand - Oberacker/Oberacker & Taylor
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-11-04 14:48:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10993122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ftwnhgn/pseuds/ftwnhgn
Summary: Donny knows. But it's alright. They're alright.





	my love. (come home to me.)

**Author's Note:**

> it's completely unbeta'd and my english probably failed me again but ANYWAY. these two boys deserve to have good times only. i don't even know if i'm happy with the characterization but i'm too tired to really run over it, so.
> 
> title: loneliness of evening - cinderella

"Donny, it's Johnny," Jimmy jams out once he and his best friend stop at his front door.

The walk back was as carefree as always – well, _as carefree_ as people like Donny and him could make their conversations and the atmosphere around them. It's like they create an uneasy tension out of their sleepless nights and nightmarish thoughts no matter how hard they try not to when they’re together. They can’t help it. And it’s not like they haven’t tried, but when he looks at Donny he automatically thinks about the wreck and Donny probably can’t help but think about all his confessions about Michael.

So, yeah. _This_ , today, is kind of a big achievement. Them not talking about the war for the whole time, their walk being silent but with the unspoken trust and solidarity of their companionship. A best friend – it’s weird. Jimmy never thought of himself as the person with a best friend, someone he could confide in if he wants to – but it’s nice nonetheless. And though he gives Donny shit often enough, he still knows he got his back, and the other way around.

“What?” Donny asks.

Jimmy can see his dark brows knit together in confusion and he honestly thought that this would be easier. Simpler. Julia caught on pretty quickly, after all. She actually figured it out before they figured out what was between them. Not their feelings, Jimmy has been fairly certain about his early on, but about the thing that grew between them into what it is now. And that Donny slept on it, for months now as well, is nerve-wracking. A bit. Jimmy doesn’t want to shout it from the rooftops or something, hell, not even over his dead body, _but_ he wants his best friend to know that he’s – happy. Somehow. That he has something good, _someone_ good.

“The guy I’m seeing,” Jimmy explains, his hands wringing in front of his waist like he’s trying to squeeze the blood out of them. Hell, he’s nervous. Around _Donny_. What the fuck. “And when you ring that bell now, Johnny will open this door and,” he swallows around the lump in his throat. Why does he feel so chocked up all of sudden? “Please don’t be too weird about it.”

Donny’s face does the funny thing when his brain catches on with what is said to him and understands it as well and sometimes Jimmy wants to kiss the guy for his highly transparent display of, well, basically _anything_. And then a smile is appearing on his mouth – no, no, a trademark Novitski _grin_ – and he shakes his head and squeezes Jimmy’s shoulder.

“Now I get what Julia meant! She hinted something like that,” he answers, a laugh escaping him around her name. “That’s awesome, man. Really awesome,” he continues. “I’m happy for you. Both of you. Johnny’s a great guy!”

Jimmy could mention how, in Donny’s eyes, every guy in their band is a great guy, but he doesn’t get to answer. He also can’t start to explain how grateful and relieved he feels – like a giant weigh is lifted off his shoulders. The tiniest of all the stuff he carries around with him, but still – because Donny did ring the door bell at some point between his confession and nervous breakdown and Donny being … Donny.

The door opens in front of them and they both simultaneously turn around, Donny’s hand on his shoulder falling away, and there’s Johnny. Johnny leaning against the door-frame. Johnny, dressed in something that looks like a hideous mixture of sweatpants and suit trousers – God knows where he unearthed _that_ from – and a plaid shirt thrown over the grey undershirt Jimmy has last seen him in this morning and Jimmy, well, Jimmy can’t help but rake his eyes over this sight. Damn, does his man look _good_.

“Oh, you’re back!” Johnny greets him with a faint smile on his lips before he recognizes their leader next to Jimmy. “Hey, Donny! What you’re doing here?”

Donny, the saint that he can be when he needs to, just shrugs. “You know, just met with Jimmy over lunch and we worked on some songs. We walked home together, Julia’s place ain’t far from here, after all.”

Jimmy inspects Johnny’s face, especially his eyes, from where he stands. They’re a bit hooded, a bit glassy, but not like Johnny isn’t there. He probably napped after taking his medication and, as far as Jimmy knows, didn’t try to practice. Which is. A good thing, a nice thing. Johnny has been pretty out of it the past few days and turned down any invitation for dinner or practice with the others because it all got too much, so it’s relieving to see him looking better. More present.

“Sure, man,” Johnny answers and nods. “Send her my regards. And the cake she brought around was, pardon my French, _fucking great_.”

Donny lightens up at the praise. “I’ll forward it first thing I get through the front door.” He, still deciding to be the polish-italian saint, doesn’t note on the fact that she brought it around for Johnny during practice last Tuesday, which was already more than a week ago.

“That you do,” Johnny agrees and raises his body from the door-frame into a normal posture.

 Jimmy can see his clenched jaw and how his eyes squint together for the fracture of a second. His heart does this funny thing where it clenches together uncomfortably and reminds him of the steel of a ship and he tries to ignore it until he’ll be alone again, tries to push it away because Johnny is right in front of him and he has to keep it together when one of them is under the weather already.

“You coming in, or you wanna sleep on the sidewalk?” Johnny then addresses Jimmy and Donny takes this as his cue to extract himself from the situation, taking a step back and raising his hand in a goodbye already.

“See ‘ya. Have a good night, guys,” he maintains his cheerful tone and Johnny waves back until he’s out of sight while Jimmy is kind of, sort-of, very possibly, rooted to his spot.

Johnny raises an eyebrow in a question and then takes a step back from the door.

Jimmy takes this as his sign to step in beside him and close their front door.

Once the wood is in its hinges and the lock is turned around, Johnny wraps his arms around Jimmy and kisses his temple and then his mouth. No rush, no pressure, no tension. It all bleeds away, except for Jimmy’s concern, but he loses himself in the embrace anyway, takes in Johnny’s smell and the warmth of his skin and the strength of his arms and how he’s close enough that Jimmy can hear his heartbeat.

“He knows –“

“Are you alright?”

Johnny is the first to laugh, of course, after they both spoke up at the same time and Jimmy shuffles a bit away and out of Johnny’s hold to look at him. Nothing has changed since he opened the door. He still looks healthier than during the past few days and the weekend, but Jimmy can’t help but _worry_. He constantly does so and he knew that’s what he would sign up for when he got into this relationship – or, hell, even friendship _only_ – and he bites down on his bottom lip as Johnny’s gaze now turns concerned.

“What is it? You go first,” he instructs.

Jimmy sighs, runs a hand up the back of his own neck and then through his hair and then his hand sinks down and follows his other one to grip the seams of Johnny’s shirt.

“How are you feeling? Be honest?” he asks, not able to keep his voice as unaffected as he wanted to.

Johnny’s brows now furrow, draw in together, and his nose scrunches up a bit. He’s still holding Jimmy, his arms around his waist and his fingers digging into the material of Jimmy’s jacket. _Not_ letting go. Cause that’s who Johnny is, what his subconscious dials up even when he’s high on his medication.

“I feel,” he starts and breaks off immediately to search for words, his gaze trailing away from Jimmy’s face and onto a point on the wall behind him. “Better,” he finishes after a few seconds of silence in the small hallway, only broken by their breaths. “It’s the meds, I guess. But I’m not – you know. I’m _here_.”

Jimmy believes Johnny. Because that’s who he is. And he learned to trust Johnny when he tells him this, learned to not ask another and another time and learned to keep his concerned glances to a minimum. If Johnny says he’s present, then he is. No vocalised doubts. Only worrying on end and into the night after Johnny dropped off like a dead weight once they’re in bed. Only then Jimmy will allow the fear and the concern and the helplessness and the guilt to run its course.

But no when he’s here with him.

“I believe you,” Jimmy reassures him and makes Johnny smile with it. “I just wanted to make sure,” he concludes and moves his head up to kiss Johnny quickly.

“Okay,” Johnny says. “Now, do you wanna tell me that Donny finally got the hang on us, or are we never mentioning it again?”

“ _Johnny_.”

“You gotta tell me, baby. You make the rules,” Johnny defends himself, holding up his hands in mock surrender for a short moment.

Jimmy rolls his eyes, because he can’t help not to. “I told him,” he answers, though. “But I really just helped him catch on to what is right in front of him.”

“And he’s good – “ Johnny starts.

“He’s good,” Jimmy assures him, trying a curt smile. He fails, probably. Certainly.

Johnny draws him back in anyway and kisses him again – warm and tender and good – and then works his way down Jimmy’s jaw and to his neck, placing several kisses onto the cold skin and, God, Jimmy wouldn’t trade this for the world. Not when he feels affection running through him like honey and his own fingers wander upwards and he’s holding on, on, on, on as his lover’s lips go further down.

“I missed you today,” Johnny murmurs against his skin and Jimmy grips his hair and tugs and he’s feeling weak in the knees now, oh.

“I missed you too,” he mumbles into the fabric of Johnny shirt. “Love.”

He can _feel_ Johnny’s grin while his fingers run through the drummer’s hair.

**Author's Note:**

> bye and thank u to whoever reads this.
> 
> friendly reminder: you are loved, you are enough and you will achieve great things. you are right just the way you are, a living and breathing thing. keep going.


End file.
